The Queen in the North
by CoutureWriting
Summary: Brienne finds Sansa in the Vale and pledges herself to help avenge her brother and mother. Sansa takes the title she has inherited from her brother. Woe to any Freys, Boltons or Lannisters in the path of the Queen in the North. AU (obviously). A healthy dose of SanSan. You see Sansa be a badass. Basically just a whole lot of vengeance.
1. The Queen in the North

**Hi there! Basically, Sansa Stark is my favourite character in ASOIAF, and I really have this sort of ridiculous hope/desire to see her avenge her family. As much as I doubt this will happen in the novels, I just really wanted to see it on paper (or a computer screen!) so I've decided to write this, which is basically my dream. All reviews are welcome, but since I'm writing this only for me, I probably won't take into account any timeline corrections (this is AU for me) or any plot suggestions. If things don't match up, so be it. It's more for me than anyone else, and I've just decided to share it anyway.**

**All characters belong to GRRM (with the exception of any I've made). I know he hates fanfiction, but I can't resist.**

**Lastly, this is for Sansa, and here's hoping she will get her vengeance.**

**PS. There may be an appearance of our favourite… ahem… dog, very soon!**

**PPS. Feel free to review. I love to read them, very much, and they will probably inspire me to keep going/uploading my chapters.**

* * *

The chilly, biting Eyrie wind whistled through the open window and whipped at the hair of Sansa Stark. She glanced up and stared out into the clouds for a few moments before she sighed, got to her feet and pulled it shut.

Her hands went to her hair where she brushed it back, and glanced at her reflection in the looking glass. The Tully auburn was beginning to show quite badly at the roots. _It will have to be dyed again soon_, she thought solemnly. _When Lord Baelish returns from the Fingers._

'Lady Alayne.'

She turned to see Maester Colemon.

'There has been a party arrived to see the Lord of the Vale. Lord Robert requests that you accompany him.'

'A party? From where?' she asked nervously, her thoughts immediately went to Cersei. _Surely the Queen would not think to look for me here._

'I am unsure,' said the maester. 'I believe Lord Selwyn Tarth's daughter Lady Brienne heads it.'

Sansa visibly relaxed. 'I will come,' she said, brushing off her skirts and attempting a grim smile.

She followed the maester to the High Hall, where Robert sat on the weirwood throne. She shivered in the cold, and drew her shawl tighter about her shoulders. As approached the throne, Robert got up and then quickly insisted upon sitting on her lap.

Sansa nodded to the maester to show the party in.

A woman dressed in heavy armour with a grim look on her stout face entered. She was unlike any woman Sansa had ever seen before. A great deal taller than usual, and with no trace of beauty or grace in her features or figure. A wary-looking, skinny boy accompanied her. A few sellswords followed.

'Lady C—' the woman stopped abruptly and bowed low to her, and her party followed suit.

_What was she going to say?_ Sansa wondered.

'I believe you are Lord Robert,' she addressed Sweetrobin, who glanced up at Sansa.

'He is,' she said. 'May I inquire as to why you have come?'

She vehemently wished she had covered her hair with the shawl before the woman's arrival, to hide the auburn.

'I have been charged with a quest to find Lady Sansa Stark.'

Sansa felt her heart beat hard against her ribs. _This is it_, she thought. _The Queen knows where I am._

'We harbour no criminals here, Lady Brienne,' she said, inflecting calmness into her voice. 'Who has sent you to look here for Lady Sansa?'

Sansa watched Brienne's face carefully as she saw the woman consider. 'Lady Catelyn Stark.'

She nearly stood up in shock. But then she felt the familiar dull ache in her heart and she took a steady breath. 'Lady Stark is dead.'

'She charged me with finding her daughter before she died,' Brienne continued. 'I was her sworn sword. I intend to see it through… I must ensure her daughter is found alive and see to her safety.'

_She knows_, Sansa thought. _She knows exactly who I am. She nearly called me by my mother's name the moment she walked in._

Sansa stared at the woman for a few moments longer and then she glanced at Maester Coleman.

'I will talk privately with Lady Brienne in my solar,' she said, getting to her feet, despite the protests of Sweetrobin. 'I will return,' she promised him, which appeared to pacify him.

'Thank you, my Lady,' said Brienne, as the maester led her away.

'See to it that Lady Brienne's companions are fed and watered,' she said to nobody in particular, but the household appeared to spring to life.

She walked the corridor back to her solar, wondering what she would say to this woman who had made a promise to her mother to find and protect her.

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

'Would you like a drink, Lady Brienne?'

'Water, please.'

Sansa poured a cup of chilled water and passed it to her. She gestured to the chaise. 'Please, sit.'

Brienne sat, looking uncomfortable as she did, and sipped the water gracelessly. She peered at her over the rim for a time, while Sansa did her best to avoid her eye.

'You know who I am,' Sansa said.

'You're Lady Stark's daughter,' Brienne answered. 'You look very much like your mother.'

Sansa smiled sadly. 'I have been told.'

'My Lady, you must accompany me,' Brienne asked. 'You must leave this place. This is not your home, you are not safe here.'

Sansa glanced up at her. 'I cannot leave. Lord Baelish would never allow it.'

'He does not own you, my Lady,' Brienne told her seriously. 'Where is Lord Baelish?'

'He returns in five days,' Sansa said hopelessly. 'He has gone to settle affairs at the Fingers and then he will return.'

'We have time enough to leave then,' said Brienne. 'If we act quickly, we can be gone before he returns.'

Sansa stared at the ground. She could not trust a hope. It was what had brought her here in the first place.

'You don't know Lord Baelish,' she said. 'If he were to discover us, you and your companions would be killed.'

'You don't understand how valuable you are, do you, my Lady? You are his desperate grasp on Winterfell.'

Sansa swallowed the painful lump in her throat at the thought of Winterfell, empty and burnt to the ground. She would not cry. Brienne's face softened but Sansa only sat up straighter.

'Winterfell is in ruin and my family are dead or lost,' said Sansa. 'You may think me pathetic, Lady Brienne, but it is silly to trust such a dream.'

'I will help you, my Lady. In your mother's memory.'

Sansa stared at the woman. Nobody had offered themselves to her so honestly before. She could see the firm defiance in Brienne's face. Sansa noticed what a lovely pair of eyes she had.

'Your brother was King in the North, no matter what the southrons say,' said Brienne firmly. 'On his death, you became a queen.'

Sansa shook her head firmly. 'I'm sorry you have come all this way for nothing, Lady Brienne. But it is impossible.'

'It is not impossible,' Brienne tried to assure her. 'I promise. I will not rest until you are safe. Allow me to fulfil your mother's wishes, my Lady, I beg you.'

There was a long pause before Sansa answered. 'You will help me leave this place?'

Brienne nodded solemnly. 'I'll swear it, my Lady.'

'There is no need for that,' said Sansa.

'As you would, my Lady.'

'We must summon the Lords Declarant and reveal to them Lord Baelish's dishonesty. We must protect Lord Robert from him. By maternal right I am the Lady of the Vale until Robert is of age, and I must protect him.'

Brienne nodded, getting to her feet. 'We will make arrangements,' she said solemnly.

'Yes,' said Sansa. 'We will.'

* * *

In the evening, after word had been sent to the Lords Declarant and Sansa had seen that Brienne and her company had adequate lodgings, she retired to her room, only to be followed into bed by Robert.

'You aren't going to leave, are you?' Robert asked her fretfully.

She stroked his hair to soothe him. 'I must leave, Sweetrobin, but I will only be gone for a little while. I am to only go home for a little while, and when I return, I shall bring you a fine present, how does that sound?'

He shook in her arm and nodded passively.

'There,' she said softly. 'What a good boy you are. To leave, I must take some of our men, some of our soldiers, but they will return soon, too. But I will make sure you are well protected while I am gone. I will, I promise.'

He only shook more and Sansa continued to stroke his hair gently as she wondered.

* * *

On the third day, they had prepared for their journey. The Lords Declarant had arrived to protect Robert, and she had divulged her secret. As he had agreed, Robert granted her a majority of the Vale's men for her safe passage to Winterfell.

Sansa had made promises to each of the men she knew to be in the service of Lord Baelish and offered them twice his price, as well as any future offers. They had been only too happy to oblige. A few of them even declared their intent to join her company.

Once she had removed the tearful Sweetrobin from her skirts, they began their journey.

And so they made their descent.

* * *

Brienne was often a silent companion, and Sansa often took the time to wonder what it was that the older woman was thinking. She could only have been about five or six years older than Sansa herself. She was kind, and surprisingly gentle, but steadfast.

They had been on the road for three days, and Sansa was beginning to wonder if Lord Baelish had sent someone after them. She hoped not, but she knew he would be angry to lose his prize.

Their party was not small. With the knights that had pledged themselves to accompany her, and the men she had requested from Robert, as well as Brienne, her companion, Podrick Payne and her sellswords, they numbered nearly a hundred.

Each night when they made their camp, she would sit in her tent until Brienne joined her, when the woman would tell her stories of her childhood, and how she had come to be in service of Sansa's mother and news of the kingdom.

'My Lady?' Brienne asked on the third night, as they sat together in the tent while Sansa broke her bread.

She glanced up and nodded to indicate she was listening.

'My Lady, have you given any more thought to what I said the first day we met? That you might assume your brother's title and fight to reclaim Winterfell?' Brienne asked softly.

Sansa stared at her for a moment. 'I have tried not to think of it,' she said finally, after swallowing her mouthful of bread. 'My brother died for that title, my mother with him, and most of his noble bannermen.'

'Your brother was betrayed,' said Brienne evenly. 'He was killed at the scheming of the Boltons and the Freys with the Lannisters.'

Sansa sighed. 'I am not a queen.'

'My Lady, you hold all the graces of a queen, you have noble blood, and your brother declared himself king like the Starks of old,' said Brienne. 'Why shouldn't you take back your holdings and seek vengeance for your brothers, your mother and your father?'

With sad glance at Brienne, Sansa laid down her food and turned her body away. 'No good will come of it,' she insisted.

'I will help you, my Lady,' Brienne promised. 'We could ride to the Dreadfort first and deal with Lord Bolton and his bastard. Flay them alive, if need be.'

Sansa turned to her, hesitant. 'We don't have the numbers to take the Dreadfort.'

'The Knights of the Vale are far better than any man of the Dreadfort. We have discipline and skill, my Lady. And the grace of the gods,' said Brienne. 'It can be done.'

Sansa stared at her. 'Do you mean it?' she asked.

The older woman nodded. 'I do,' she said solemnly. 'I mean for you to ride to the Twins after for the bodies of your brother and his men. There, we may rescue your uncle and then we will have the Tully men, too, if we break the siege of Riverrun.'

Sansa's solemn face appeared to give way, and her eyes shone with a tentative hope. 'It really could be done,' she said. 'Couldn't it?'

'It could, my Lady.'

She stood and wrung her hands. 'Assemble the men. I will tell them my intentions and ask them to fight for me. Tell the sellswords they shall be rewarded.'

'As you command,' said Brienne.

As Brienne stood to leave the tent, Sansa caught her arm. 'Brienne… thank you.'

Brienne bowed her head and quickly slipped from the tent.

Sansa shook visibly, and took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. There was every chance these men would laugh in her face at her claim. Her breathing relaxed somewhat with every minute that passed. She smoothed her skirts nervously, before she headed to the opening of the tent.

There, she saw that Brienne had assembled her men… the beginnings of her army. They stood and watched her expectantly. _What would a queen say, she wondered?_ She thought firstly of her mother, and smiled slightly. Then she thought of Cersei, and then Margaery. What would each of them say? _You are none of them, _she thought._ You are Sansa. You will make them love you._

'You are brave men of the Seven Kingdoms, and it is my honour to be in your company,' she began, hesitantly at first.

'Hear, hear!' one of the sellswords called, and she smiled at him.

'As the sister and heiress of my late brother, I have inherited the North by right. He died as a Stark, as King in the North, and I have inherited his title. I ask each of you to fight for me! I ask each of you to help me seek vengeance! I will not rest until I have the heads of every Bolton and Frey to betray my brother! When I was in King's Landing, Joffrey made me look at my father's head on a spike. Well, I will not rest until I see Joffrey's head on a spike, and his mother's, too! I will take back what is mine by right, and I will reclaim my brother's title. We will show them what it feels like to lose what you love!'

'Hear, hear!' a few more sellswords called.

'The Queen in the North!' one of the knights called.

'The Queen in the North!' a few others joined him.

'The Queen in the North!' Brienne roared with them.

'The Queen in the North!' the sound was ear-splitting. More than a hundred voices joined together to claim her title for her. 'The Queen in the North!'

_Joffrey was never a true king_, she thought sombrely._ He had to remind his people that he was their sovereign; they never remembered it or chanted his title for him. Nobody was loyal to Joffrey but his mother. _She smiled, but a determined fierceness and sadness shone through. _My family should be here_, she thought finally.

* * *

They travelled for several more days, until one evening Brienne brought one of the sellswords before Sansa.

He knelt before her. 'Jaspyr, your Grace.'

'Rise,' Sansa told him. 'What is it?' she asked, half of Brienne and half of the sellsword.

'I have news of the east that may be of import to your Grace,' he said, his accent wavering in and out of his speech.

Sansa glanced at Brienne quickly and then nodded to the man. 'You'd best tell me then, ser.'

'I'm no "ser",' said the man. "I was born and raised in Qarth, but I found frequent passage to and from the city on a merchant ship carrying silk. That way, I trained in sword and could provide money for my mother who struggled with debts.'

'Tell your story,' said Brienne impatiently.

'Last I was in Qarth, the thirteen had a very important guest, your Grace,' said Jaspyr. 'Princess Daenerys Targaryen, only she's styled herself as rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and Khaleesi of her Khalasar. Only, the Khalasar didn't look like much to me, only a few good warriors. Only, your Grace, she has dragons.'

'Dragons?' breathed Sansa. Dragons hadn't been seen in the Seven Kingdoms for hundreds of years. 'Are you sure?'

'Very sure, your Grace. One of the Thirteen wanted to marry her so he could take one of them, but she didn't marry any of them.'

Sansa stared at him for a few moments. 'And why have you told me?'

'Could be you wanted to know,' said Jaspyr. 'What do I know what's of importance to a queen? She has plans to retake the Seven Kingdoms. Seems to me that'd be the business of anyone, whether Queen in the North or the bastard son of a fishmonger.'

'Who else have you told?' Sansa asked.

Jaspyr looked unsure. 'I might have mentioned it at one or two inns. Nowhere where there was anybody important listening.'

_The spider has spies everywhere_, she remembers. 'Somebody will have heard. Stories of this nature travel very quickly.' Sansa turned her gaze to Brienne. 'The question is, why does nobody else appear to be concerned?'

Brienne looked unsure. 'It could be that nobody else has heard, your Grace. Last the Lannisters heard; I think Daenerys was just a whispered threat across the Narrow Sea. King Robert wanted her dead. I suppose whoever he sent didn't get the job done. Perhaps Cersei Lannister has sent somebody to do it properly.'

'Brienne!' cried Sansa. 'We are still talking of a girl only a few years older than I am. It was her father who was the Mad King, not her.'

'What do you suggest we do then, your Grace?' asked Brienne. 'It seems she is closer to Westeros than anybody first thought. And with dragons at her back… It's certainly concerning.'

'You may go,' Sansa told the sellsword, who bowed his way out of the tent.

She took a gulp of water from one of the skins and sat down. 'Has anybody else sent word to Daenerys, do you think?' she asked Brienne.

'I'm not sure, my L—your Grace,' said Brienne. 'I'm doubtful. I believe everyone to call themselves King or Queen is too preoccupied with the war.'

'Do you know anything else of her?' asked Sansa. 'Anything of her nature, of her plans?'

Brienne shook her head. 'I only know her brother essentially sold her to a khal. They travelled for some time, to where, I do not know. He got her with child, and then killed her brother. He was injured in some way or another, and died, while her child was stillborn. It appears that somehow she has acquired dragons, and leads the remnants of her husband's Khalasar. They would be very few, your Grace.'

Sansa sighed. 'She has the last three dragons in the world, Brienne. She could buy an entire army with just one.'

'Yes, your Grace, I suppose she could.'

'I want word sent to her,' said Sansa eventually. 'We will choose one of the knights. He will find passage on a trade ship and follow word of her. I want some sort of proposal drawn up. It appears she is a very real threat, and when she returns—'

'Not when, if,' Brienne interjected.

'It is a matter of time. When she returns, I would rather the North be on her right side,' Sansa finished.

'Yes, your Grace,' Brienne agreed.

'I want Ser Eirwun to do it,' said Sansa. 'He must handle it delicately. We must ensure Daenerys knows our good intentions towards House Targaryen.'

Brienne nodded stoically.

'That will be all,' said Sansa, softly. 'I am very tired.'

With a bow, Brienne was gone from her tent.

Sansa wrapped her furs around her shoulder and lay on the sleeping mat quietly. She could feel tears brimming at her eyes already. It did not seem right for her to have to make these decisions. _Is this how Robb felt?_ she wondered._ To have to make these choices that should have been our father's? These choices should be Robb's not mine. If he had only lived, Lord Baelish could have taken her to him and her mother… Lord Baelish wouldn't have taken me, though_, she thought sadly.

She rolled over and prayed for sleep.

* * *

She rose early the next day to see off Ser Eirwun. He was gracious to her, and handsome, too. She wondered that if she had been younger she might have met him at some tourney and given him her favour. It all seemed so trivial now.

Sansa had been unable to sleep well that night, and had got up to write a letter to this Daenerys, who styled herself as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She wondered if the girl had inherited her father's madness, or had been turned savage by her time as a Khaleesi. Essos seemed so far away, so distant, yet she knew it was only a stretch of water that separated them.

In her letter, Sansa had included condolences for the loss of her husband and son, as well as tentative support for her claim to the Iron Throne. She had tried to write like a queen – to imagine Margaery writing such a letter – attempting to inflect kindness but assertiveness into her words. She hoped they would not be lost.

'You have my deepest thanks, Ser Eirwun,' she told him warmly. 'Find Daenerys and pass on this letter to her. Do anything you can to win her favour. We will need it before the end.'

Ser Eirwun nodded firmly and smiled at the young queen. 'I will do my best, your Grace, to convey your kindness and empathy to her.'

'That is all I can ask,' said Sansa.

She watched on as he took his handsome, saddled stallion, mounted it and galloped off. She watched on until he was lost to distance, and she could no longer make out his silhouette.

'Your Grace, we draw nearer to the Twins each day that passes,' said Brienne. 'I am not sure we could take them with a hundred men.'

Sansa smiled at Brienne encouragingly. 'Lord Frey will have pledged his men to the Lannisters. The Twins will be poorly defended. He will think his walls impenetrable.'

'What are you going to do?' Brienne asked.

With a smile, Sansa touched the older woman's arm. 'I intend to kill the Freys either way, but I will send our best man in, claiming to be a Lannister. He will invoke the guest right, and stay the night. During the night I'll have him kill the guardsmen at the gate, and let us in from the inside.'

Brienne looked worried. 'What if it doesn't work? What if our man is killed? Your brother and mother had the guest right, and Lord Frey slaughtered them anyway.'

Sansa considered her for a moment. 'Do you have a better plan, my Lady?' she asked. 'If we besiege them, the full Lannister force will take us from the rear before I can do anything at all and all of our men will be lost. If I wait for Northmen that may not answer my call at all, we will be discovered by some scout or another and killed. So, my Lady, what do you suggest?'

Brienne nodded reluctantly.

'Besides, I know it will work,' said Sansa. 'I intend to send you.'

* * *

**There we have it. Chapter one all done. As I said, really, it's just for me, but I thought other people might enjoy it. If you have, shoot me a review (please, I love them), and if not, sorrynotsorry. Thanks for reading. x**


	2. Sentenced to Die

Sansa was nervous. From where she stood upon the hillside, she could see her men hiding clearly. She stared at the Twins, and huddled beneath her furs for warmth. She watched, and she waited.

As she peered at the entrance, she saw a flash of light as Brienne gave the signal. She saw her men spring into action and her heart jumped in her chest.

'Will we succeed?' she asked Ser Warris Vaymer, one of the two knights who had stayed behind with her.

'It is certain, your Grace,' he told her, with a kind smile. He looked to be a little older than her father had been, but his hair was quite grey already. He was not handsome, but his eyes were kind and his nature gentle. Sansa liked him very much. 'The Freys will not be expecting an attack, especially a ruse such as this.'

'I wish I could be with them,' she said ruefully. 'It feels terrible, to send your men off to do such things without doing them yourself.' _Perhaps this is why they do not usually let women rule_, thought Sansa. If it were Robb, he would be with his men, fighting for his cause.

Ser Warris glanced at her, surprised. 'Your Grace… you're too gentle… it is not a woman's place.'

She did not answer, but wished it all the same.

'Killing is not as exciting as stories make it seem, your Grace,' said Ser Warris carefully.

'I know that,' said Sansa quickly. 'I saw my father lose his head. I saw Joffrey cut out a man's tongue. I saw his Kingsguard murder rioters. I was saved from rioters who were…' she glanced at him. 'Never mind.'

'Of course, your Grace,' said Ser Warris. 'I apologise if I offended you. I only meant… this sort of killing is different. Men freeze up in battles sometimes, some men… well, shit themselves, for want of a better word. Nobody thinks less of you for not being in the midst of the fighting. Most of these Frey men will be slaughtered in their sleep, anyway.'

Sansa must have paled visibly, because Ser Warris hurried to correct himself, but Sansa interrupted.

'No,' she said, 'it's fine. I know what they did to my brother and his men. Dying in their beds is a mercy.'

'Well said, your Grace,' Ser Warris conceded.

'I just want to see my uncle,' said Sansa quietly. 'To see family would be a blessing, no matter how distant.'

_It would be better if it were Arya_, thought Sansa sadly. _We're the only ones left… and Jon, at the Wall, or wherever he is._

They stood in the darkness for what seemed like hours, when finally she saw the second signal for them to approach. Ser Warris and Ser Tyrstan escorted her down the hillside.

When Sansa saw Brienne, she broke into a relieved smile. She looked dishevelled and bloody, but seemed satisfied.

'We've collected the household into the hall, your Grace,' she said. 'Lord Frey has been taken captive, his family murdered. All but the women, at your request.'

'Thank you, Brienne. Have Lord Frey put into the dungeons. Have the remainder of his men assembled here.'

Brienne nodded curtly and walked off. Sansa stared at her men, looking out for those faces most familiar. 'Did we lose anybody?' she asked one of them.

'Just one, your Grace,' he said sadly. 'One of the shits managed to get a knife to Aruen's throat before he could be killed.'

'Just one?' she wondered disbelievingly.

'Just one.'

She stared around the hall and saw clearly the spirits. She wanted to cry. Her ears were filled with shouts and cries as her brother's men were slaughtered. _It feels so real_. The visions were vivid, and terrifying. She could see Robb, covered in blood, empty eyes staring back at her. She wanted to run to him, and cradle his body and cry into his hair. There was her mother, screaming for her dead son, until a red smile blossomed at her throat…

Sansa shook her head to quell the scene in her head.

And then she looked to the women. Women in nightgowns, looking absolutely terrified. Most were too fat, their teeth too crooked, their hair too limp to be pretty, but they were frightened, and Sansa's heart went to them, Freys or not.

'Are any of you hurt?' she asked them. Most shook their heads vehemently.

'No, my Lady,' said one, stepping forward. She was small and pretty.

'You speak to the Queen in the North,' snapped Ser Tyrstan, irritated at the Frey girl's mistake. 'Address her as such.'

'I meant your Grace,' said the girl, looking genuinely apologetic. 'I'm often confused by titles. I am Roslin Tully.'

Sansa took a step back in surprise. _This is my uncle's bride?_ she wondered, surprised.

'Where is my uncle?' she demanded.

Roslin glanced at the floor nervously under Sansa's scrutiny. 'He was locked up. Your men will find him. I pray for his safety.'

'As do I,' said Sansa dismissively. _This girl is a Frey_, she reminded herself_, no matter how pretty her words._

'Sansa?'

She turned and saw her uncle, looking dishevelled, but wonderfully alive. Before she could think twice, thankful finally to see family, to see an adult, she flung herself at him. He returned her embrace without a second thought.

When she let go of him, she stood back for a moment and smiled at him. 'I cannot tell you what a relief it is to see family after so long,' she said mournfully.

Edmure smiled sadly. 'And I you. Though you have grown so much since I last saw you. When we last spoke you were a girl of seven.'

Sansa smiled. 'War makes children grow up faster than they ought.'

Edmure nodded once. 'I saw that in your brother,' he said sadly. 'I see much of his strength in you already.'

They embraced again for a few moments, but Sansa wanted to cling to him forever. This man was her last hope for family, and an adult. Selfishly, she wished she could pour all her burdens out onto him. She desperately wanted an grown-up to lead.

'Roslin.'

He spoke only one word but his pretty wife was by his side in an instant. 'Are you hurt?' she asked him but he shook his head.

_I should have asked that_, Sansa thought bitterly. _Why is she so doting when she tricked him into this false marriage and let my brother and mother be slaughtered?_

Edmure must have noticed the look of abhorrence on her face, for he took Roslin by the hand and tentatively addressed his niece.

'Roslin had no part in the slaughter,' he told her firmly. 'She'd have been locked away or killed if she had warned us.'

Sansa glanced at the girl, but did not do so warmly. Regardless, the girl was a Frey, and Freys were not to be trusted, whether they made pretty wives or not.

_Men are so easily convinced by a pretty face and a soft body_, she thought, irritated.

'Trusting her is your choice,' she said dismissively.

The rest of the Frey men were herded into the hall, where Sansa addressed them.

'Before you lays a choice,' she called to them, and they listened. She abhorred what she was doing, but she had no choice. What queen would she be with no army? 'You may decide to revert your loyalties to me, and I will reward you with your life. If you accept my offer today, you will pledge always to be faithful to me, and me only. I will become your queen. At the first sign of treachery, I will feed you to the wolves.'

A long silence followed her words. At first, she feared these men might not acquiesce, but then one fell to his knees before her, followed by a handful more. In a few moments, every man there was on his knees before her.

_I will not trust these men_, Sansa thought. She stared each one in the eye firmly, and then turned to Brienne.

'Your Grace?' she asked faithfully.

'As soon as I turn my back, I have no doubt any of these men would try to put a knife in my back,' she said quietly. _But I will make them love me._

'I would cut them down before they could reach you,' Brienne assured her.

Sansa cast a glance back at the men before she walked from the hall.

* * *

'It will not be long until the Boltons or Lannisters hear,' said Sansa quietly. 'We must be ready for them when they do.'

Brienne nodded. Greatjon Umber and Edmure sat beside her, but Sansa had forbade him from bringing his wife.

'I want to move to Riverrun as fast as possible,' she continued. 'I will be stronger with the Tully men at my back. Without them, I cannot hope to take the Dreadfort, or Roose Bolton's head.'

Edmure nodded slowly, if reluctantly. He still doubted her as queen, Sansa knew, but she had every intention of proving herself to be as good a leader as her father, and twice as good as her brother.

'Uncle Brynden holds Riverrun. He has Robb's wife,' said Sansa quietly. _A woman loyal to our cause, unlike your wife_, she thought unkindly as she stared at Edmure. 'We must break the siege.'

'And what of the Twins?' asked Greatjon.

'We cannot hold them,' said Sansa. 'Sack the place. Take anything of value… the horses, the weapons. Arm our men. Then burn the place to the ground. I do not care. I want the place as barren as Winterfell.'

Greatjon nodded approvingly. 'It will be done, your Grace,' he said gruffly.

'And what of Lord Frey?' asked Edmure. 'He—'

'He cannot live,' Sansa interrupted. 'He will lose his head for what he has done to my family. Do not ask for mercy for your wife's father. He murdered my mother, _your_ sister, and my brother.'

Edmure was quiet, but Greatjon smiled a half-grimace in approval.

'I will see it done, your Grace,' he said.

_The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword_. Sansa heard her father's words in her ears and closed her eyes for a moment. Her head swam. To kill a man? She thought she might have been able to kill Joffrey, shove him over the edge… but a beheading? That was more than bore thinking about…

_The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword._

'What did you say, your Grace?' asked Edmure.

She stared blankly for him for a moment, and then blinked. Each of her advisors swam back into view. She fixed her gaze on each of them for a moment, and then repeated:

'The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.'

'Your Grace, no!' breathed Brienne.

'You are not a man,' cried Edmure.

Sansa turned to see Greatjon looking solemnly at her. 'She means to do it,' he said. 'It is not your place to refute the queen.'

'I must be taught,' she said finally. 'I do not know how to do it.'

'I have a blade,' said Brienne. 'I have Oathkeeper, reforged from your father's own greatsword. It is Valyrian steel. Use it and the beheading will be over quickly, your Grace, if you mean to do it yourself.'

Sansa nodded. 'Greatjon, will you show me how it might be done?'

Greatjon nodded solemnly.

* * *

It rained.

_How fitting, _Sansa thought as she walked. She made no effort to cover her hair. Her gown was sopping and as she walked, she carried the longsword Oathkeeper, which was heavy in her hands.

Two of her knights brought Walder Frey forward. He was gaunt and old and ugly.

_So this is the man who murdered my mother and brother_, she thought. She stared at his face and wanted to spit into it. _I am a lady, _she reminded herself, _and more than that, I am Queen_.

'Kneel,' she said coldly.

The two men forced Walder to his knees and his head into the block. Sansa's head swam.

_It is too late, Sansa Stark_, she told herself. _Back out now, and these men will think you a coward for the rest of your days. _

She tried to remember Greatjon's words as he had had her practice. 'Strike hard and strike true,' he had said. 'The Valyrian steel is a blessing. If you do it right, you need only one strike and the head will come right off, your Grace. Prove to these men how strong you are.'

Nine of the ten times she'd practiced, she'd failed. On the last, it had worked. The wood and straw she'd practiced on came apart in one blow. She sucked in breath greedily and took her stance.

'Lord Walder Frey of the Twins,' she called, loud enough for all the men assembled to hear, 'here in sight of the Gods, Old and New, I sentence you to die for your crimes against House Stark, and for your abuse of the Guest Right.'

She shook visibly, but she was sure to hold the blade steady. 'Do you have any final words?'

Lord Frey was silent.

'May you rot in all seven hells for what you have done, then,' she whispered. 'The North remembers.'

She raised the blade high and with all the strength she could muster in her body, she brought the great sword down. She forced herself to keep her eyes open as Lord Frey's head came off and fell with a thump onto the ground. Blood sprayed the skirts of her dress and stained the grass and was splattered by rain.

Breathing heavily, she stared for a few moments at the lifeless body. Then she passed the sword to Brienne, and brushed Edmure's kind hand off her shoulder.

As she walked, she glanced up to meet Greatjon's gaze. The man looked fierce but proud as he watched her, and she grimaced at him and moved on.

* * *

They did not stay long at the Twins. Everything of value was removed, and a torch was taken to the place.

As they rode away, Sansa's growing army at her back, she turned in her saddle to watch the smoking buildings and sighed. She rode at the front of their party with Brienne and Greatjon, and her uncle Edmure. His wife rode beside him but Sansa ignored her.

'It was a great thing you did,' Brienne had told her after the execution, but Sansa had brushed off her congratulations. There was little joy or satisfaction in her revenge.

She had sat alone afterwards, in the bloody dress, and stared at her hands blankly. She had never killed anybody before. The Hound had talked of it as if it were made only for enjoyment, but Sansa felt none. She had bid one of the Frey servants draw a bath for her, and she had lolled in the steamy water for hours, willing herself to sleep or drown or pass out in the humidity.

When she had dressed, Edmure had come to see her, and then Greatjon, and finally Brienne. None of their words offered her any comfort, and if they had, she would not have told them.

_It is I who must be strong for them_, she had thought. _What is a queen without strength?_

Her desire to be alone had been quickly fulfilled. None of them had stayed too long with their silent queen.

_Perhaps I should have been warmer to them_, thought Sansa as they rode away from the Twins in silence.

* * *

**There you are, another chapter. Please review xx**


	3. Dogs and Wolves

**Another chapter. Thank you for the reviews, they've been (mostly) positive, and pretty overwhelming. Thanks guys. Apologies if there are any grammar/spelling mistakes, I didn't really proofread this (sorry!), as it's 2:05am here in Australia and I just finished and want to sleep, but didn't want to make any of you wait. Enjoy.**

* * *

_In Winterfell, it snowed. Sansa stood in the empty courtyard, the wind whipping her hair about her face, stinging her red cheeks. Her fingers were nearly blue and her toes were numb where they were buried in the slush of mud and snow. _

_Winterfell was barren but for the blanket of white. She walked barefoot through the courtyard and shivered in the thin petticoats she wore._

_The Great Hall, a large building of stone, its ceiling partly caved in, stood before her. The enormous oak-and-iron doors sat ajar, and Sansa could see people inside. The roar of the wind in her ears was too loud to make out any voices or music._

_She slipped inside, embarrassed at her lack of attire, wondering where her gown and shoes could have gone. In the doorway, she squinted to make out the guests. The hall was full of people, sitting at the long trestle tables. _

_She walked between the rows, and peered down at them. She could not recognise anybody. They were so still… so quiet… and the wind rushed so loud in her ears. She reached for the arm of one and nearly cried out at the feel of the clammy skin on hers. He was dead. Involuntarily, she took a few steps and bumped into somebody else. She touched his shoulder and screamed when she realised it was the butcher's boy, Arya's little friend. _

_There was a sad girl with dark hair and eyes who resembled so strongly the bust of her aunt in the crypts; it could only have been Lyanna Stark, and beside her, the lifeless body of a handsome, silver-haired prince. He clutched the hand of a Dornishwoman holding a baby whose head had been smashed to pieces. A pretty little girl sat in the woman's lap._

_In horror, she stared at the masses of people seated for the feast. The food laid out looked months old, and the smell of rotting filled her nose. _

_In horror, she walked, drawn by the sight of the raised dais where figures sat that she could not make out. She knew already who they would be._

_King Robert sat in the middle, his stomach torn open, and his hands attempting to hold in his guts. His face was frozen in a pained grimace, a lopsided crown upon his head. Joffrey beside him, his face purple and distorted and lifeless. Sansa glanced to his right and saw her father, his head held in his hands. Her mother beside him, her face torn and bloody and her neck sliced open. Robb was next, Grey Wind's head sewn on instead of his own. Then there was Bran and Rickon, and Arya beside them. Headless Septa Mordane sat there, too. Maester Luwin, clutching a wound at his stomach. When Sansa saw the sad girl at the end of the table, she tripped and fell. Her own face stared right back at her, her smile bloody and her eyes blank. Sansa shrieked, and clutched the table as she fell. _

_Her eyes fell on the beast on the platter in the centre of the table. Lady._

_Sansa screamed._

'Your Grace?'

The Queen in the North lay on the hard, narrow mat on the floor of her tent as Roslin shook her softly. She tossed and turned and moaned, distraught. There was sweat at her brow, and her skin was clammy.

'Your Grace!' somebody cried, shaking her.

Sansa's eyelids fluttered open and her eyes were wild. Roslin's face swam into view.

'Are you all right, your Grace?' asked the girl, putting a hand to her forehead. 'It was only a dream. Are you going to be sick?'

Roslin reached for an empty pail and held it before Sansa, who promptly emptied her stomach into it.

'It's all right, your Grace,' said Roslin, stroking her arm comfortingly. She helped the breathless Sansa sit up. 'You're shaking like a leaf.'

'I… I'm fine,' Sansa managed to breathe.

'Are you sure, your Grace?' asked Roslin, her brow furrowed in worry. 'I was sure… I only—I heard you screaming.'

Sansa closed her eyes for a few moments as her head swam. When she opened them, Roslin had not moved, her hand still firmly on Sansa's shoulder. Sansa brushed it off and got to her feet shakily, gripping the table gingerly.

'Why are you here?' asked Sansa, embarrassed.

'There's a fuss in the camp, your Grace,' said Roslin. 'They've caught a spy, I think. He was found following us. Some of the knights are saying it's the Hound, but others are saying that's impossible. There's a young boy with him.'

Sansa's eyes widened. 'Who is saying it is Sandor Clegane?' she demanded.

'Ser Warris, I think,' said Roslin.

'Ser Warris was in King's Landing with Lord Arryn when he was Hand, of course he would know if it is the Hound or not!' cried Sansa. She wiped the perspiration from her face and reached for her furs and shrugged them onto her shoulders. 'Come along,' she told Roslin.

Her uncle's little wife followed her dutifully from the tent. It was dark, but with the fires lit and the shouts drifting through the encampment, it was easy for Sansa to tell where the trouble was.

She hurried through the tents, slipping between men and horses alike. Finally she reached the scene of the disturbance.

She saw at once that it was Sandor. It had taken four men to restrain him, and still they struggled. He had not changed in the slightest since she had last seen him and she wondered vaguely why her heart had jumped when she had heard it was he.

'Unhand him at once!' she yelled, and immediately her men released him and took a step back.

Sandor's face turned to hers and she struggled to read the expression.

'Are you hurt?' she asked, and moved towards him.

'It'd take more'n this lot to hurt me,' he said gruffly. 'Half of them were playing with sticks until this war started.'

Sansa frowned. '_These_,' she said firmly, defensively, 'are my men.'

'I can see that,' Sandor said with a suspicious glance at them. They were wary in return.

'She is a queen,' snapped Ser Tyrstan, stepping forward, his hand on the hilt of his blade. 'You will address her as "your Grace", dog.'

'Hush,' Sansa told him quietly. 'Why have you come?' she asked Sandor. 'Has the queen sent you?'

'The queen,' scoffed Sandor. 'I haven't been back to that shit heap of a city since the Battle of Blackwater.'

_When you meant to take me with you,_ thought Sansa. She wondered now how different her life would be if she had accepted his offer.

'Besides, I have something to return to you,' he said roughly. 'If those lot will let go of your sister.'

Sansa nearly took a step back. She paled in disbelief. 'Arya?' she demanded. 'Where?'

Sandor gestured wildly, and she saw that two of her men held a scruffy-looking, boyish figure. On closer inspection, she saw that it was, unmistakably, her little sister.

'Let her go,' she ordered immediately.

Arya was released and walked forward quickly, clutching an old, blunt-looking sword. There was hesitance and in her eyes, which Sansa could not understand.

They stood like that, a few metres apart, for several moments, until their resolve broke at the same time and they reached for each other. Their embrace was tight and warm and bone breaking. The breath left Sansa's chest and she let out a dry sob into her sister's dirty hair.

'I thought you might be dead,' Sansa whispered.

'I thought I might be, too,' said Arya quietly.

Reluctantly, Sansa pulled away from her sister and faced Sandor.

'You have done me a great favour, ser,' she said humbly.

'I am no ser,' grumbled Sandor, his face stern. The way he looked at her made her feel as though she might as well be the same little girl she had been in King's Landing.

There was a scattering of muttered discontent at his misaddress of her. _What do I care for titles? _she thought dismissively.

'How would you have me reward you?' she asked. 'There is no price I can put on my sister's life, but I will give what I can to you.'

Sandor frowned at her. 'I once offered to take you away from King's Landing and return you to Winterfell,' he said. 'Do you think I come seeking your rewards?'

'How dare you speak to the Queen in the North in such a fashion!' growled Ser Warris, reaching for the hilt of his sword. 'You ought to have some respect.'

But Sansa placed a restraining hand on his arm.

'He is an old… friend,' she said quietly. 'He will be forgiven.'

Ser Warris looked angry, but acquiesced. Instead, he stared in a distrusting manner at Sandor. 'Your Grace, he is Cersei's dog.'

'Not any longer,' she said, a flash of ferocity in her features. 'He returned _my _sister. I will hear no more on it.'

Arya stood beside her but said nothing.

'Will you at least take supper and some wine, ser?' asked Sansa finally.

Sandor nodded. Ser Warris opened his mouth but Sansa interrupted him.

'I will see to it, Ser Warris, thank you,' she said quietly, and motioned for Sandor to follow her. 'Thank you,' she also murmured to Roslin as she passed, and the wide-eyed girl curtseyed.

Arya walked stoically beside her, and Sandor a few footsteps behind. As she walked, Sansa snaked her hand into her sister's and squeezed it gently. Arya returned the gesture.

As they walked, several men stared openly at them, but Sansa did not care. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her dead self from her nightmare. _I am strong_, she reminded herself. _What is a queen without strength?_

'Here,' she said, and pulled the opening to her tent aside and allowed her sister and Sandor passage.

Inside, Arya immediately helped herself to salted beef and fruit, as hungry as a wolf.

She gestured to a chair for Sandor, who sat awkwardly. She poured two cups of wine and a cup of water for herself. As she handed it to Sandor, her own slender fingers brushed his rough, calloused ones and she blushed inexplicably.

'Thank you,' Sandor muttered, and drank.

Sansa turned away hurriedly. _I'm as nervous as a septa in a Godswood_, she thought, closing her eyes for a moment. When she reopened them, Arya was still hoeing into the supper.

'As much as you dismiss it, I must reward you, ser,' said Sansa. She turned to fix her gaze back on him, and found that he had downed the contents of the cup. She refilled it hastily.

'I have want of nothing,' he said.

'There must be something,' she persisted, unperturbed.

His gaze was not pleasant and made her feel as little as a mouse. _Who would think I was the same girl to execute Walder Frey now? _she thought, and nearly laughed.

'I would stay,' said Sandor.

'Of course,' Sansa said immediately. 'You would be our honoured guest, ser. It would—'

'Not as a guest,' Sandor cut her off impatiently, 'fuck the airs and graces. I'd be a sword, a sworn sword…_ your_ sworn sword. I'd serve you better with a blade in my hand than as a guest.'

'I cannot ask you to—'

'You're not asking, I am,' he interrupted her again. 'Say yes and be done with it. I'll serve in your Queensguard.'

Sansa considered him for a moment, and then nodded. 'As you will.' She doubted Brienne would warm to the idea. _Brienne, _she thought_, my lonely Lady Commander._

'Are you quite warm, Arya?' she asked, turning to her sister. Her plain doublet looked thin and old, but she only shrugged.

'S'all right,' she said, in between mouthfuls.

Silence filled the tent, but Arya barely seemed to notice. Sansa snuck a look at Sandor to see him staring into the dregs of his cup.

'More wine, ser?' she asked.

'I'm no ser, little bird,' said Sandor.

'I'm no little bird,' said Sansa defiantly.

'Oh, I see,' said Sandor dismissively. 'Too big for your crown already, I see.'

Sansa stood abruptly. 'I won't… you can't—' She had no idea what to say to him.

'Calm yourself, your _Grace_,' said Sandor, wiping his mouth. He got to his feet and stared at her for a few long moments.

'Why are you always so hateful?' she demanded. 'I thought you might have changed, at least a little.'

'What good is change to me?' he demanded fiercely. 'Will it feed me? Will it kill my enemies? I piss on change.'

Sansa noticed that Arya had stopped eating, and was staring between them, open-mouthed. Sansa tried to make herself a little taller, without much success.

'You wish to stay,' she said quietly. 'So be it. But I won't be spoken to like that, especially in front of my men. Watch your tongue, _ser_.'

He looked like he was about to move towards her, but appeared to think better of it, and turned abruptly, and nearly tore the opening from the tent. It fluttered as he slipped out and she caught the briefest of glimpses at his retreating back.

'Wha' was tha' all abou'?' asked Arya, her mouth full. She looked incredulous, but Sansa shook her head.

'He's a very angry man. If I knew what could gentle the rage inside him, I would seek it,' was all she said.

Arya swallowed her mouthful. 'You've changed,' she said.

Sansa smiled sadly. 'So have you.'

Arya glanced down at her boy's clothes and shrugged. 'It's easier being a boy,' she said. 'Less questions.'

Sansa sat upon the little bed, and Arya joined her silently.

'Where did you go?' Sansa asked, and suddenly she sounded like the little girl she had been. 'Where did you go when father… when they…'

Arya stared back at her sadly, and they lay down together, hands intertwined, the soft sound of Arya's voice giving way to sleep for Sansa.

* * *

'But your Grace, you cannot be serious,' said Brienne quietly. 'He is the Lannisters' dog, how do you know his loyalties have changed? A dog does not so easily forget his master.'

Sansa glanced sharply at her. 'He is not a dog,' she said, 'he is a man. More than that, he is now one of our men, and one of my Queensguard.'

'Are you sure, y—'

'If you ask me one more time whether I am sure or not, I believe I shall tear my hair from my head,' said Sansa, exasperated. 'Do not ask again, just see it done.'

'Of course, your Grace.'

Sansa sighed, and then turned to see a reproachful look on Brienne's face. She moved her gaze to Edmure instead, who looked uncertain.

'One more sword will only further our cause,' she said to nobody in particular. 'He abandoned the Lannisters after the Battle of Blackwater. He is loyal to us now.'

'Not after, but during,' said Edmure. 'Who's to say he won't do the same to us? And take all of our secrets right back to his mas—to the Lannisters?'

Sansa closed her eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but it was Greatjon who spoke instead.

'It'd do you both well to remember who is queen here,' he said gruffly. 'She may be gentle, but she's no longer a child. Seems to me she's got more sense than you, Lord Tully.'

She opened her eyes and smiled wanly at Greatjon. 'I've heard enough on the matter,' she said. 'He's the reason we have my sister back. Quite frankly, he could have whatever he wants from us.'

Silence followed her words, and she was grateful. She felt so worn nowadays, and they were only a day's ride from Riverrun. She had to be ready to face what was coming, no matter what is was.

* * *

That night, Arya crept into her bed again. With another body beside hers, Sansa could pretend that it was her mother. Arya smelled of home, of Winterfell and of wolf.

But still, Sansa could not sleep.

In the middle of the night, she pried herself out of her sister's grasp and wrapped her furs about her shoulder's tightly.

She peeked her head out of the tent and saw Sandor keeping watch. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she stepped outside.

He turned abruptly at the sound of her feet on the ground but relaxed somewhat when he made out her face.

'What are you doing up so late, little bird?' he asked.

The camp had fallen into silence, most of her men asleep. The coals in the fire before Sandor glowed red, and Sansa stared at the little spires of grey smoke that trailed up into the night sky. It was bright, and full of stars. She liked to pretend that they were people she had known who had died. The brightest would be her mother.

'I can't seem to sleep,' she said eventually, turning her gaze back to him. Somehow, in the dark, he seemed less frightening.

'Is it hard to sleep without Lord Baelish sneaking around?'

Sansa glanced at him sharply. 'I don't—I don't know what you mean. Littlefinger did not—does not—love me…'

'I don't doubt that,' said Sandor roughly. 'I doubt that snake loves anybody or anything. Except gold, perhaps.'

Sansa stared at him. Was it jealousy in his tone? She sighed.

'I am surprised he has not sent men after me,' she admitted. 'I was his claim on Winterfell… on the North.'

Sandor tilted his head at the camp. 'What, with this lot at your back? There's not enough gold in the world that would make him risk his neck. Even for you, little bird.'

_Even for you, little bird_. Was she so special?

'I need my uncle's men,' she said quietly. 'My mother's uncle is at Riverrun, with my brother's widow. We must break the siege.'

'It will be easily done,' he told her. 'The Lannister men at Riverrun are like waves breaking on sand.'

His words soothed her. She shivered in the breeze and pulled her furs tighter about her.

'I want to learn to fight,' she said finally, decidedly. 'I want to be able to protect myself… to protect others…'

He turned to her in surprise. 'It is not so easily learnt,' he said quietly. 'Although, I heard of your bravery at the Twins. You killed Lord Frey.'

She wanted to say that it had been easy, but she knew that Sandor would know she was lying. 'It was hard,' she admitted, 'but it didn't feel… bad.' _It didn't feel good either_, she thought solemnly. _No matter how many heads I take off, it won't bring Robb or mother back._

'You're wondering why I said killing was sweet,' said Sandor, staring off into the hills.

'Yes,' she admitted.

He turned to her. 'Every time I kill, I see my brother,' he growled.

Sansa nodded slowly. 'I understand.'

'How could you?' demanded Sandor.

To her surprise, she found herself reaching out to touch his arm. He twitched, as if she'd shocked him, but did not pull away.

'I understand,' she repeated, but he did not answer.

* * *

**There you go! Please review, they make me write so much quicker. Thank you all. :)**


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